


The Waters and the Wild

by LadyRhiyana



Series: Etchings [13]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/M, Wilderness Survival, With added porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:20:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29555538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRhiyana/pseuds/LadyRhiyana
Summary: “Brienne,” he says, gently. “Are we really not going to talk about it?”Captain Hill, he’d been when she first met him. He’d been outrageously handsome, sharp-tongued and every bit as good as he thought he was – there had beensomethingbetween them from the beginning. Brienne had thought it was antagonism, at first. It had turned out to be crackling sexual tension that had led to a red-hot, scorching affair.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Etchings [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2140638
Comments: 67
Kudos: 224
Collections: The Exchange that was Promised: Jaime x Brienne Smut Swap 2021





	The Waters and the Wild

**Author's Note:**

  * For [diesis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diesis/gifts).



> For the prompt: "A fight, either literally fighting - swordsfighting or simply arguing and bickering, or...other kinds of fighting!"
> 
> diesis, I hope you enjoy this tiny offering. I don't know that it can compare to your other fic, but still - please enjoy!
> 
> (Title from W.B. Yeats, and probably not at all appropriate.)

The mountains of Dorne are red as blood, the sky burning blue above. Cicadas drone and click in the vast silence, broken only by the crackling of flame from the crashed helicopter and the empty static of her radio.

Surely someone had heard her distress call. Surely the rest of the Kingsguard had been keeping track of the crown prince.

“Your Grace?” she asks. “Can you hear me?”

He stares up at her, his green eyes blinking. There’s blood on his face and in his golden curls, and nicks and bruises from where she’d dragged him bodily from the burning chopper, but he doesn’t appear to be seriously injured.

“Your Grace?” she says again. Gently, she feels his skull, but she can’t feel any bruises or swollen lumps. There’s a cut on his forehead that appears to be the main source of the half-dried trails of blood. Gently, she pours out water from her canteen and dabs at the wound.

“…ouch,” he says. Slowly, his eyes focus on her, a subdued shadow of ironic humour curling his mouth. “Gently, sweetling.”

She breathes a sigh of relief. If he’s well enough for off-colour jests –

“Come on,” she says, hauling his arm over her shoulder and lifting him up. “We have to find shelter. It may be burning hot now, but the temperature will drop soon enough.”

His breath is warm on her neck. She can feel his soft huff of laughter.

“Your Grace –”

“Jaime,” he says.

She turns her head, encounters the full force of his golden beauty, even bruised and bloodied.

“Given the circumstances, I think –”

“Your Grace,” she says firmly.

He only sighs, drops his head on her shoulder. She concentrates on getting him walking, trying to make her way down the mountain towards some kind of civilisation.

*****

They walk for what seems like hours, heading ever southwards as the sun sinks slowly towards the horizon. So far as Brienne is able to tell, they had crashed somewhere in the Prince’s Pass, the ancient path that Daeron Targaryen’s conquering armies had followed so many centuries gone.

She explains this theory to the prince, who squints at her with a tiny smile. “You like your history.”

“I would have liked to study history at university,” she says. “But we had no money, and I became an army pilot instead.”

“Just think,” he says, “if you hadn’t, you’d never have met handsome Captain Hill.”

She snorts out a laugh.

“Brienne,” he says, gently. “Are we really not going to talk about it?”

She looks away. “About the way you arbitrarily had me assigned to the Kingsguard? Or about – the other?”

“Either. Both.”

“Jaime,” she sighs. “We should never have –”

He stops walking. She stops and turns to look at him, at Prince Jaime Lannister, eldest son and heir of King Tywin Lannister, First of his Name.

Captain Hill, he’d been when she first met him. He’d been outrageously handsome, sharp-tongued and every bit as good as he thought he was – there had been _something_ between them from the beginning. Brienne had thought it was antagonism, at first. It had turned out to be crackling sexual tension that had led to a red-hot, scorching affair.

And when the war games came to an end, her CO had called her in and told her that she’d been assigned to the Kingsguard effective immediately.

“I should have known,” she says instead. “I never truly believed you were real.”

He makes an exasperated sound. “I’m as real as that cunt Kyle.”

“You grew up in the Red Keep,” she counters. “With servants bowing and scraping –”

“No, I grew up at Casterly Rock.” A quick flash of his brilliant smile.

“I don’t see how that’s any better!” she throws up her hands. “You’re – you’re like a unicorn. And I’m the maiden who has to –”

She stops. Blushes. He leers at her, his bright green eyes dancing wickedly.

“Don’t say it,” she says.

“Oh, I won’t,” he agrees, his mouth curling. “But don’t tell me you don’t remember every moment of it, just as well as I do.” 

*****

Night falls when they’re halfway down the mountain.

By that time, she’s found a shallow cave and set up camp with the material she’d managed to scrounge from the wreckage of the helicopter: survival blankets; first aid kit; food and water enough for a few days in the wilderness.

She’s even managed to make a fire. Only a small one, but it provides some added warmth; huddled together with the survival blankets draped over them, their small shelter could even be called cozy.

“D’you know, Captain Tarth,” Jaime says, “the first thing I ever noticed about you – aside from your astonishing eyes, of course – was your sheer competence. I truly believe there’s nothing you can’t turn your hand to.”

“It’s just common sense,” she says, uncomfortable as always with compliments. 

“It’s damned uncommon, in my experience.” He shifts, and she can feel him pressed against her, warm and solid. She can feel his every breath. 

He was right, earlier. She remembers every moment of it.

“Jaime,” she says –

He turns his head. Their eyes meet.

“Oh, damn you,” she breathes, as she leans in to kiss him. He tastes of emergency rations and copper and his own, elusive self, and she slides her hand into his tangled golden curls, drawing him closer, ever closer. He makes a low sound in his throat and kisses her, hungry and devouring.

They draw apart, breathing raggedly. “Please tell me there are condoms in that first aid kit,” he breathes.

She blinks, and then scrabbles at the kit until she emerges with a solitary foil packet.

“There’s only one,” she says, disappointed. “We’ll have to ration it.”

“Never mind. We can work around that.” And with a wicked smile, he ducks his head beneath the survival blanket and unzips her trousers with his teeth, peeling them down her hips and nosing her sensible cotton underwear.

“Jaime!” she hisses, lying back, her hands curling into his hair.

“Gods, I never knew white cotton was such a turn on, until I met you,” he says, his breath warm, his voice a rumbling vibration.

“Less talking, please.” She tugs on his hair, ignoring his laughter, and jumps as he licks her through the cloth, slow, hot and thorough. “Jaime, Jaime, Jaime,” she sighs, as he slowly peels her underwear down and settles between her thighs, his warm hands holding her open for him.

*****

In the morning they continue their slow journey.

The sun beats down on them like an anvil. Brienne’s skin reddens, but Jaime only grows more tanned and golden.

Every now and then she tries her radio. “Kilo Golf base, this is Kilo Golf Seven,” she says. “Kilo Golf base, this is Kilo Golf Seven, do you copy?”

But all she receives is empty, crackling static.

Just as the heat of the day grows unbearable, as the ground starts to shimmer with heat haze and mirages form in the distance, they stumble on a tiny creek trickling down a narrow crevasse, hidden in the side of the mountain. They stumble into the tiny defile, and immediately they can feel the difference in temperature. The air is cool and moist, and the sound and smell of water is maddening.

Jaime strips off his shirt and stands under the tiny trickle, shaking his head and laughing in delight. Brienne stands stock-still, staring at him: at the droplets of water caught in his hair, in his stubble, trailing down his lean, muscled torso towards his zipper.

She makes a guttural sound, low in her throat.

He deliberately bites his lip and looks at her under his lashes, and slowly, slowly he trails his hand down the line of dark golden hair and tucks his thumb into his waistband, teasing –

She surges forward, pushes him back against the slick moss-strewn rock-face. He tastes of sweet fresh water, and his skin is hot beneath her palms, while the water trickling down on them both is deliciously cool.

“Gods, Jaime, you’re such a –” she gasps, as she wrestles with his trousers and drags them to his hips. He’s so beautiful it makes her angry. It makes her want to muss him up and mark him with her teeth. It makes her want to keep him.

“Such a what?” he laughs, as he scrapes his stubbled cheek over her neck, his white teeth tugging at her ear.

“Such a fucking _unicorn_ ,” she hisses, wrestling his crimson silk boxer shorts down, dropping to her knees and taking him into her mouth.

If she takes a little too much enjoyment from the way he shudders and loses control and stumbles to his knees, afterwards, well – turnabout is fair play.

*****

Night finds them in another shallow cave, pressed together under the survival blankets again. Jaime is behind her, one hand between her thighs and the other at her breast, his mouth nuzzling her throat and his voice whispering filthy nothings in her ear. Her hips are shifting, her breath sighing as she leans back against him, letting him take her full weight.

She’s just reaching for their sole condom when the radio crackles and comes to life.

 _“Kilo Golf Seven, this is Kilo Golf Four,”_ the radio says. _“Come in, Kilo Golf Seven.”_

“Ignore it,” Jaime groans in her ear, pressing himself against her. She can feel him, hot and hard and eager.

 _“Kilo Golf Seven, do you read me?”_ the radio continues.

Cursing, Jaime grabs it and thumbs open the connection.

“Marbrand, you cunt,” he snarls, “your timing is –”

“ _Oh, is that you, Your Grace?”_ Addam Marbrand says, with all the rich enjoyment of a friend who’d known Jaime before he became a royal prince. “ _I’m glad to hear you’re safe and well. Give us your location and we’ll send a chopper for you._ ”

“Not now!” Brienne snaps. “In the morning!”

Marbrand only laughs.

**

They put the remaining hours of the night to good use.

And when the chopper comes for them in the morning, they venture out to meet their rescuers with their hands clasped firmly together.


End file.
